


oh, what I wouldn't do (for you)

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Begging, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just after the end of their first five year mission, Jim and Bones buy an apartment together and take a sabbatical. The only problem is, Bones can't sleep. He really, really can't fucking sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, what I wouldn't do (for you)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Что я ни сделаю ради тебя](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640941) by [Amelia_Harper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Harper/pseuds/Amelia_Harper)



> Many thanks to [starsandgraces](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgraces/pseuds/starsandgraces), for betaing, and also for letting me use her "I got two sleep. Maybe three," joke. :) Also, thanks to anyone that listened to me whine about this story and encouraged me to keep going with it. If I pasted chunks of it at you and you were enthusiastic and supportive, well, I appreciate it so, so much. <3
> 
> Title is copyright [Serena Ryder](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOi1PLqf808). Sex scene inspired by [this post](http://canistakahari.tumblr.com/post/54220434929/pornshenko-some-moments-are-just-perfection).

They buy an apartment together, just two weeks after they get back to earth. The only other option is temporary Academy housing and Bones says, “If you think I’m sleeping on one of those narrow mattresses with my elbows and knees hanging off the edges like I’m a giant sleeping in a Lilliputian matchbox bed for longer than absolutely necessary, then you’ve got another goddamn thing coming, Jim.”

“Fucking on those beds was a real adventure,” is all Jim offers, because it was, but it’s not an adventure that he particularly misses.

So they buy a loft in one of the complexes near campus and sign the lease together. After five years in space, where their shared quarters could easily fit five times over into their new home, it’s a little overwhelming to stand in the empty living room and look out the window at the bay.

“This is weird,” says Bones.

“I would’ve thought you’d be happy,” says Jim carefully. “Feet on solid ground, not trapped in a flying tin can, insert charmingly suspicious colloquialism here, et cetera.”

Bones looks around the apartment, his misgivings etched onto his face. “Don’t you know me better than that? It’s new and unfamiliar, so I hate it. Why is it so big? Where are we going to get enough furniture to fill the damn place? I hate shopping. We need _groceries_.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “We probably need a fridge, first.”

Bones suddenly looks hunted. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Do you want me to remind you that it was _your_ terrible idea, or do you just want to flee back to Lilliput and hide under one of the ‘Fleet-regulation twin-sized blankets that either covered your feet or your shoulders but never both?”

“No,” says Bones miserably. “None of the above.”

“Cheer up, grumpy bear,” says Jim. He pauses. “Want to fuck on the floor?”

Bones sighs heavily, distracted. “The logistics of sex on laminate flooring trouble me.”

“I think your blood sugar is low,” says Jim, eyeing Bones warily. “I’m going to order Chinese food. Hopefully the logistics of eating out of cartons on the floor are less troubling.”

oOo

Bones’s blood sugar isn’t low. Bones is just restless and nettled by change, which Jim learns when he’s accidentally elbowed awake at three in the morning amidst the flotsam of bedcovers that fill their brand new boat-sized bed.

“Oh my god,” says Jim, cradling his charlie-horsed thigh and peering through the darkness at the thrashing of limbs that better be Bones and not a murderer. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I can’t get comfortable,” hisses Bones. As Jim’s eyes gradually adjust, he can make out the hunched silhouette of Bones’s shoulders and the fluffy mess of his hair. “It’s a new mattress, what do you want from me?”

Jim counts to ten. “Maybe a little less of the panicked-beached-whale-stranded-on-a-beach behaviour. Bones. _Relax_. It’s just a bed. It’s _our_ bed. It’s comfortable and soft. Just lie back and think of Starfleet and let it embrace you.”

“It doesn’t feel like our bed,” complains Bones sullenly. He settles down a little, letting out a huff.

“You’ll get used to it,” says Jim. “Come here.” He pulls Bones into the circle of his arms and folds their bodies together like spoons in a drawer, Jim’s chest to Bones’s back, one arm hooked snug around his belly. Bones snuffles irritably into his pillow and lets out shallow, steady breaths.

“Good,” mumbles Jim, already half-way back into sleep. He pats Bones’s belly absently. “There you go.”

Jim goes right to sleep. Apparently Bones doesn’t.

Jim makes this discovery when he rolls over the next morning and the other side of the bed is cold.

He can smell coffee, which means sometime while Jim was sleeping Bones got up and started digging through their mess of unlabelled boxes searching for the coffee machine. Apparently the hunt was successful.

“Boooones,” he groans, rubbing at his face as he rolls over onto his back. “Booones, what are you doing.”

Bones appears in the doorway clutching a cup of coffee and wearing his most haggard face. “Dying slowly,” he mutters, squinting at Jim through dark circles.

“Is the bed not bed-like enough?” asks Jim.

“The bed is fine,” says Bones. He takes a big gulp of coffee, both hands cradling the mug delicately.

“Then what?” sighs Jim.

“Nothing, everything is fine,” says Bones. There’s a fraying edge to his voice like a loose thread. Jim wants to grab it and pull.

“You are constructed entirely from lies and lack of sleep right now,” accuses Jim.

“And coffee,” amends Bones. “This is my third cup of coffee.” He pauses, and sets the mug down on the precarious tower of boxes stacked near the doorway. “I have to pee.”

“You do that,” says Jim, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. “You show your bladder who’s boss, Bones.”

oOo

“Let’s get a dog,” says Jim excitedly, standing in the middle of the living room and closing one eye as he holds up a paint swatch. Eggshell. He can’t tell the difference between eggshell and ivory. Maybe this is what it’s actually like to be an adult. “Do you want a dog?”

“Sure,” says Bones absently. He’s squinting at the can of primer he’s holding like he’s trying to parse the mysteries of the universe from the label. “Huh?” he says, about a minute later. He blinks and transfers his squint to Jim, eyes blood-shot. His jaw tics.

Jim slowly lowers the paint swatch and opens his eye to fully absorb and appreciate the colourful picture painted by Bones’s two-day stubble and wild oops-I’m-on-accidental-safari expression. “So that’s a yes? We’ll get married in the fall, surrounded by carpets of crunchy leaves?” asks Jim, smothering the urge to laugh.

For a brief, shining moment, panic flashes across Bones’s face. A tiny part of him clearly believes there’s a chance this is something he’d agree to, even if it’s entirely under duress and a direct consequence of not having slept a continuous night’s sleep in over a week. Panic then morphs into something more closely resembling homicidal rage.

Jim takes pity/cover. “I’m just messing with you. I said that we should get a dog.”

“Oh, great,” croaks Bones, dialling back the Murder Eyes. “Because after spending five years taking care of over a thousand crewmembers, most of who struggled greatly with the concept of personal safety, what I really want to do is adopt another creature that depends on me utterly for its continued existence.”

“Slow your roll, Bones,” says Jim, laughing. “I said get a _dog_ , not adopt a child.” He holds up the paint swatches for consideration. “Eggshell or ivory?”

“Is this hell?” asks Bones plaintively. “Did I die of insomnia and end up in sterile white hell?”

“You slept last night,” says Jim, furrowing his eyebrows. “I heard you snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” says Bones stiffly.

“Sure,” says Jim. “That must have been me, then.”

“It was definitely you,” mutters Bones resentfully. “I was awake for almost the entire nasal symphony.”

Bones has had a week to get used to the new bed. Apparently the mattress is _too_ soft, now, or it’s not on the right plane of existence. Jim hasn’t got a blessed clue.

“Why don’t you take a nap on the couch or something,” suggests Jim. “Take the edge off before you fall over.”

“I want a full night’s sleep, Jim, not the hellish privilege of waking up after an hour wondering what day it is with cotton stuffed in my skull and the taste of dead animal in my mouth.”

Jim throws up his hands. “Okay, fine. I’m officially out of suggestions.”

Bones glares at him. He’s still holding the bucket of primer. Judging by the brief flash of horror in his eyes, he only remembers it’s in his hands just after his grip loosens and he drops it on the floor. The lid pops off and a sea of white belches all over their feet.

“That’s it,” says Jim into the ringing silence as they both stare at the slow creep of paint covering the floor. “This is your captain speaking and I’m taking you off duty.”

Bones sputters. “You can’t take me off duty. I’m not _on_ duty—”

“You’re emotionally compromised by sleep deprivation,” continues Jim, talking over him. “You’re dismissed, doctor.”

Bones stares at him, lips pursed, chin jutting out stubbornly, like he’s about to frame a rebuttal but he’s too tired and burnt around the edges to collect the appropriate words to do so.

In the end he just leaves the room silently, leaving a trail of white footprints in his wake.

oOo

That night, Bones tosses and turns so much he falls right off the damn bed. Jim throws him a pillow and says, “At least the floor won’t be _too soft_.”

It’s a testament to how fed up and tired Bones is that he actually tries to get comfortable down there.

He crawls back up onto the bed after a couple of hours, jostling Jim awake and shoving into the circle of his arms like a big, demanding cat, rumbling something incomprehensible in the pit of chest. “I choose to interpret that sound as purring,” mumbles Jim, not entirely cogent. Bones grunts and butts his head under Jim’s chin, so he reaches out and scratches him absently under the jaw. “Go the fuck to sleep, Bones.”

“I’m trying,” whispers Bones, letting out a sigh.

His muscles twitch arrhythmically for the entire night.

Jim ends up wide awake at four in the morning, arms wrapped loosely around Bones’s torso, caught up in the mania of his desperate efforts to relax. First his breathing evens out and his body goes lax and loose, sleep-warm against Jim’s skin, but then, just as he’s about to fall deeply and properly asleep, he jerks bodily like he’s just been hit with a stun gun and the whole process begins anew.

The fourth time this happens, Jim is ready to shove Bones back onto the floor, but instead he presses a kiss to the rough prickle of his cheek and mumbles, “Do you wanna fuck or something since we’re both awake?”

Bones draws in a long-suffering breath and then exhales in a puff of air against Jim’s throat. “No.” He rolls away from Jim, putting distance between them, and Jim frowns and follows, reaching out to pull Bones into his arms again. “Stop,” hisses Bones, pushing at him irritably. “I’m keeping you up.”

His voice is a raw, ragged thing, sharp edges worn ceaselessly away by exhaustion.

“S’okay,” murmurs Jim, snuffling at the back of Bones’s neck, nose pressed to his hairline. “Got nothing to get up for tomorrow anyway.”

oOo

In the morning, Bones is dead-eyed and walks like his limbs are too heavy for his body. He makes it out of bed and to the table, laying his head down and keeping his eyes closed until Jim sets a cup of coffee next to him and strategically backs away.

For a while, he concentrates on frying eggs and toasting bread; when he turns back around, the mug is empty and Bones still has his head on the table but his eyes are open and he’s squinting at Jim like he’s got a very small window of time in which to prove he should be allowed to stay in the room with him.

“I’ve cooked food for you,” says Jim, buttering the toast and then scooping eggs out of the pan and onto the plate. He carries it to the table and pushes it close to Bones’s face like an offering.

Bones grunts and sits up. Jim translates it into _you can stay_.

“How much sleep did you end up getting?” asks Jim, when Bones has scooped some eggs into his mouth and performed the requisite tasks of chewing and swallowing.

“Oh god, I don’t know,” mutters Bones, pushing some toast into the yolks of his eggs and scowling furiously at his plate. “Two. I got two sleep. Maybe three.”

“Maybe we should get you checked out,” Jim suggests carefully.

“Maybe you should _shut up_ ,” says Bones. He transfers his glare from his breakfast to Jim, and starts to methodically rip his toast into pieces.

“I’m going to remind you of this conversation the next time you’re violently trying to give me a check-up,” says Jim. “Because that was an awfully rude and hypocritical thing to say to the person that just made you breakfast and loves you unconditionally.”

“Maybe I’ll care when I’m not so tired,” says Bones. “The jury’s still out.”

There’s not much Jim can say to that.

oOo

“To be completely honest, it’s a little like living with a reanimated corpse right now,” says Jim, leaning in to speak close to the vidscreen in a low voice. “Don’t _ever_ tell him I said that. That’s _confidential information_ , Nyota.”

“Please,” says Nyota, rolling her eyes. “Maybe he’s having trouble adjusting to natural light after five years sleeping in an artificial environment? I’ve been tossing and turning a bit myself.”

Jim slouches down in his chair and considers it. Bones is in the bedroom, attempting to nap, but Jim can hear him moving around. “Maybe. We bought these black-out curtains and they helped a little bit, but the light doesn’t seem like that big a factor? I’m totally at a loss.”

Nyota _hmm_ s and reaches off screen to pick up a mug. “He doesn’t want to try a sleep aid?”

“He laughed in my face. I’m basically one more night of his bony shins smacking me in the stomach away from sneaking a message to Geoffrey,” admits Jim. “There’s gotta be something medical going on that he’s refusing to consider or that he knows about but won’t tell me.”

Nyota’s eyebrows knit delicately and she frowns. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she says after a moment, tone soothing. “He wouldn’t let his health slide intentionally.”

Jim sighs. “Anyway. What’s new with you?”

“Spock is on New Vulcan for a month,” Nyota replies. “And Carol is in England right now. I’m bored to death. Why don’t we meet for coffee tomorrow? I’d love to see you both.”

Jim sits up and grins. “Sounds great.”

After the call ends, Jim decides to take a calculated risk in checking on Bones. When he pushes open the door to their bedroom, it’s pitch-black and he can hear Bones breathing.

“Are you awake?” he whispers, squinting into the darkness.

Bones makes a pained noise. “Is that a trick question?”

“I was just talking to Nyota,” says Jim. “She wants to meet us for coffee tomorrow. You think you can manage sitting at a table with your eyes open while making words happen with your mouth?”

For a moment, Bones doesn’t say anything. “Maybe one out of three. At most, two. I can’t promise anything.”

oOo

He really can’t.

Nyota’s sitting at a table outside the cafe when Jim gets there. The first thing she says after “Hi, Jim,” is, “Where’s Leonard?” as she gets up from her seat and leans over the table to give Jim a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“He fell asleep in the car and I didn’t have the heart to wake him,” says Jim, sitting down across from her. “It’s the only time he doesn’t look like he’s being ground under the heel of the universe. Also I was afraid that if I tried, I’d lose some fingers.”

“Well, at least he’s a doctor,” says Nyota. “He’d be able to re-attach them.”

“Oh my god,” says Jim. “You are so gross. What are you drinking?”

“A cinnamon latte,” says Nyota.

Jim bends over the table and illuminates the embedded menu PADD with a tap of his finger. “I’m getting the hot chocolate with whipped cream and caramel syrup. Extra large.” He inputs the order into the queue and grins at Nyota. “Bones isn’t here. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Nyota rolls her eyes. “When do I get to visit the new apartment, by the way?”

“When we actually unpack,” says Jim, leaning back in his chair and watching the foot traffic ebb and flow past the coffee shop for a moment. “We still haven’t finished painting. Bones had an accident with the primer and now he’s not allowed to touch any liquids without adequate supervision.”

“It’s interesting,” says Nyota mildly. “How the definition of ‘adequate’ can vary depending on the individual using it.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” says Jim. “Because it’s rude.”

Nyota leans back and takes a slow sip of her latte, her lips curled up in a grin. Jim is suddenly hit hard with how much he misses seeing her every day; misses her quiet intensity and efficient warmth as a daily constant.

“Would you do another five years?” he blurts.

Nyota blinks. “Jim—” The server turns up, then, with Jim’s drink, saving her from having to respond right away, but when they’re alone again in the crisp fall air, she struggles for words. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she admits.

Jim shrugs. “Me neither. I guess—I mean, have you had a hard time? Adjusting?”

“It’s very—quiet,” she says. “If we were back on campus at the Academy, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard, but...”

“We’re not,” says Jim. “I go into the kitchen to get a sandwich and there’s nobody there. And I can eat whenever I want.”

Nyota _hmm_ s. “Maybe not right away,” she says at length. “But I think I would.”

Fifteen minutes later, in the middle of Jim and Nyota’s heated debate about the relative merits of crunchy versus smooth peanut butter (“But the crunchy bits are like little surprise nuggets of treasure!” “First of all, it’s not a surprise, it’s in the description, and second of all, you’re wrong.”) when Bones suddenly materializes next to their table trailing a cloud of ennui and regret.

“You left me in the car,” he barks at Jim, wild-eyed and palpably disoriented. “I had no idea what was happening!”

“I didn’t want to wake you up!” protests Jim. “Come on, what’s the big deal? You figured it out.”

Bones narrows bruised, judging eyes at Jim. “You—”

“Leonard,” says Nyota, effortlessly drawing Bones’s attention and accompanying ire away from Jim. She gets up from her seat to hug him gently. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“Nyota,” says Bones, sounding surprised. He blinks at her, then squints, bringing the universe back into focus, before running a hand through his hair and leaving it standing on end. “Sorry, I—guess I fell asleep. Again.” He grimaces, apologetic. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Jim mentioned you’ve been having trouble sleeping,” says Nyota.

Bones sinks down into a seat next to Jim and huffs derisively. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Jim likes to exaggerate. You shouldn’t listen to him, you know better.” 

“I do know better, you’re right,” agrees Nyota indulgently.

“Hey!” protests Jim. “What is this? What’s happening here? I tell nothing but the honest truth!”

Bones levels a flat look at him before dropping his gaze to Jim’s drink. “What in the hell is _that_?”

“It’s mine,” says Jim, wrapping his hands around it and tugging it in close. “You can get your own. No sharesies.”

Bones opens his mouth and then closes it, his eyebrows knitting together. Jim can hear his reply anyway, bouncing around in the space between his ears: _Do you know how much sugar is in one of those, Jim?_ Except Bones just sighs and smothers a yawn in his hand before bringing the menu up on the table.

“Fine,” mutters Bones, punching in his order. “I _will_.”

“Oooh,” murmurs Nyota, her eyes wide and playful. “Snap.”

“Somewhere along the line,” says Jim. “I lost control of my life.”

oOo

Jim thinks (hopes) that maybe Bones’s exhaustion has finally gotten to him that night, when Bones lies still for nearly two whole hours, breathing slow and shallow. Sitting up next to him in bed, with the vidscreen muted and the subtitles turned on, Jim watches a movie and absently strokes Bones’s hair, wondering if it’s too soon to feel relief. He’s just switching off the vid when Bones stirs and groans, eyelashes fluttering.

Jim sighs, heart sinking. “You were asleep. What happened?”

“Dunno,” rasps Bones. “Too quiet.”

Jim rolls onto his side to face him in bed, leaning in for a brief kiss. “Hey.”

Bones blinks at him blearily. “Hey.”

“Let me take care of you,” murmurs Jim, nosing closer, sliding his fingers into Bones’s hair. Bones shifts and lets out a slow exhale, drawn into Jim’s personal space like a satellite in orbit, though it doesn’t take Jim long to close the gap between them.

“I’ll do all the work,” Jim mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the corner of Bones’s slack mouth. “I’m going to pin you down and fuck you open and you can just lie there and _take_ it and if you still can’t sleep after that, Bones, I swear to god, I’ll—”

“What?” says Bones, grunting as Jim slips a hand down into his boxers to wrap around his dick. His eyelashes are dark against his cheeks, face heavily shadowed.

“I don’t even know,” says Jim. “Just shut up and let me do this, okay?”

Bones shudders and nods. Jim strips them both, pushing back the covers, because Bones is noodle-armed and deeply reluctant to move more than he has to. When they’re both naked, Jim spreads his thighs and gets between his legs and Bones peers at him through his lashes.

“Thought you said you were gonna pin me down,” mutters Bones.

Jim has to bite down on his lower lip to regain control of his brain. “Yeah,” he mutters. “God, Bones. Okay.”

And fuck if Jim doesn’t _like_ him like this, pliant and sleep-stupid as Jim rolls him from his back onto his belly. Bones groans and rubs his cheek against the mattress, hips grinding down a little. Jim curls his fingers around the freckled curve of Bones’s hip, pressing his thumb into the divot. “You just have to stay like that,” Jim says against his ear, leaning over him.

“If I fall asleep in the middle,” says Bones, voice a little muffled, “you can’t get mad.”

“That’s not even possible,” says Jim. “That has literally never happened to me.”

“First time for everything,” mutters Bones, but Jim ignores him as he grabs the lube and slicks up his fingers.

He goes slow, taking his time as he opens him up. There’s a simple pleasure found in just watching the ripple of the muscles in Bones’s shoulders and back; Jim sits with his knees bracketing Bones’s hips, bracing one hand on Bones’s bicep, not quite pinning him down but taking advantage of his leverage. At first, Bones just sighs with each plunge of Jim’s fingers, hips rolling in tight thrusts, but by the time Jim’s got three fingers stuffed into him, Bones is restless, grunting and squirming, hands curled into fists on the mattress either side of his head, white knuckled as he grips the sheets.

Jim is just adding a fourth finger when Bones whimpers, voice raw as he says, “Get _on_ with it, Jim, you insufferable tease.”

“What are you going to do about it?” demands Jim smugly.

Bones turns his head a little, searching for Jim’s face, cheeks flushed, plush lips bitten red. “I’ll never let _you_ sleep again, either.”

Jim laughs though he also takes pity; he’s an asshole but if Bones wants his dick, then he can have it. He takes one last moment to rub at Bones’s slick, stretched rim, just to watch Bones grunt and clench reflexively, before he withdraws his fingers.

Bones makes a tiny, despairing noise that lights Jim up from the inside out and then Jim slots his hips against the lush curve of Bones’s ass and slides into him. With a helpless sigh, Bones relaxes, shoulders loosening. Jim gives his arm a squeeze and leans over him, other hand curving over the top of Bones’s head.

“That good?” asks Jim roughly, with a slow rock of his hips. “You like when I hold you down like that?”

“Like it even better when you actually stop talking long enough to fuck me,” retorts Bones, and Jim grins sharply, curling his fingers into the ruffled mess of Bones’s hair, tugging as he settles into a rhythm of deep, punishing thrusts. It’s his preferred pace when Bones’s patience is running thin because it is 100% guaranteed to reduce Bones to a quivering mass of incoherent vowels in a very short period of time, and, sure enough, it doesn’t take long before Bones is a mess under him, broad back bowed as he pushes his hips up and back. Jim crowds him down into the mattress again and again, tucks his arm under Bones’s armpit and curls his fingers up around the swell of his shoulder like a hug from behind, keeping him restlessly contained.

“Jim,” whines Bones, turning his face to the side as much as he’s able with Jim’s hand cradling his skull, squirming like he wants to shake him off, only he _asked_ for Jim to pin him, and that’s exactly what he’s going to fucking do. “Jim, please. _Please_ , goddammit.”

“Shhh,” hushes Jim, nuzzling the nape of his neck. “Your job is to lie there and take it. Was I not clear?”

Bones cries out as Jim shifts the angle of their hips. “Jim, can you just—please!”

“You want our new neighbours to hear you?” murmurs Jim, kissing the sharp jut of Bones’s jaw. “I bet your voice carries right through the walls.”

“Then _do something about it_!” snaps Bones. “You’re the one making me _act_ _like this_ , you goddamn son of a—”

Jim slides his hand down from the top of Bones’s head to cup his jaw instead, covering his mouth firmly with his hand, gagging him.

“You’re a demanding fuck, you know that?” murmurs Jim against his ear, bringing their faces together to kiss Bones fiercely on the cheek. Bones’s grunt is muffled, his lashes fluttering as he squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowed. Jim curls his other hand around the circle of Bones’s throat, just because he can, and with the crook of his elbow supporting Bones’s neck, he draws Bones back against his chest.

Bones crumbles, his orgasm shuddering through them both, moan smothered by Jim’s hand. The tense coil of his body goes lax and languid and he clutches helplessly at the sheets so Jim loosens his tight grip, letting him curl back down onto the bed.

“I don’t think I’m quite done fucking you yet,” announces Jim, planting his hands down as he slows the roll of his hips just a bit, savouring Bones’s little intake of breath.

“Well I think _I’m_ done,” slurs Bones. “Jesus Christ, Jim. I need a good night’s sleep, not to hibernate for the winter.”

“As if I ever do things by halves,” says Jim. His own building climax is getting difficult to ignore, now, and even though he’d ideally like to keep this going until Bones is hard again, the steady pull of arousal in the base of his belly says otherwise. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the tight heat of Bones around him, burying his face against Bones’s shoulder when he comes.

Bones doesn’t do anything other than grunt when Jim pulls out, face down with his thighs spread, skin tacky with come and lube.

“You look suitably debauched,” says Jim, rocking back on his heels, wholly satisfied with his handiwork. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

“Shhh,” mumbles Bones, eyes shut firmly. “Sleeping.”

Jim rolls his eyes.

Then he tucks Bones in, because Jim Kirk is a goddamn sweetheart.

Finally, curled around Bones, forehead tucked against the nape of his neck, a pleasant ache in his thighs, Jim drifts to sleep.

oOo

Jim wakes leisurely to sunshine and the insistent pressure of a full bladder, so he doesn’t immediately notice that anything is amiss as he stretches in bed.

He gets as far as taking a piss and washing his hands before realising that Bones wasn’t in bed with him when he got up. He squints at his reflection in the mirror, running his tongue over his teeth, before a movement in the corner of his eye distracts him and he turns around.

“Wow,” says Jim, when his brain comes to terms with the picture of Bones lying in the bathtub. He’s wearing Jim’s boxers, probably picked up off the floor in the middle of the night. “What are you _doing_ , if you fall asleep you could drown!”

Bones has his arm tucked over his eyes to block out the light, and he doesn’t even have the decency to remove it before he replies with, “First of all, drowning would be a welcome relief from the soul-sucking hell that is insomnia. Second of all, there would have to be _water_ in the tub for me to drown, you twit.”

“Semantics,” says Jim, rubbing at his eyes. “Are you kidding me? This is ridiculous. You should be passed out drooling in bed right now, exhausted by our rigorous love-making. Are you disoriented? Did I fuck you so hard you mistook the bathtub for our bed? Should I be _concerned_ about the relative power of my dick?”

Bones finally lifts his arm off his face, blinking slowly and incredulously at Jim. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say anything. For both our sake’s.”

Jim sighs. “Bones. Seriously. How long?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Bones grunts. “Maybe three consecutive hours, this time. Longer than usual. But then I was wide awake again. _You_ , however, conked right out after you supposedly conquered me with your dick, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“So you decided the tub was a good place to be,” says Jim at length. “Not the brand new futon we’ve got in the living room.”

“I’m not interested in your judgement,” says Bones gruffly, sitting up with audibly creaking joints and then hauling himself stiffly out of the tub. “You try making rational thoughts happen when your brain is the same consistency as scrambled egg.”

“Speaking of eggs,” says Jim.

“That better be a seamless segue into you making me breakfast,” says Bones.

Jim slings an arm around his shoulders and guides him out of the bathroom. “It’s your lucky day, sugar plum.”

oOo

It’s a problem and Jim’s going to fix it.

Bones is fragments of a person, held together by guilt and caffeine and bull-headed resolve; Jim drafts a message to Geoffrey that he saves but doesn’t send quite yet. The solution is somewhere in the space between. He knows it is. It’s so plain and obvious that it’s hiding from him. Sometimes, as a child, he’d bypass the simplest option, unshakable in his certainty that nothing so troublesome could be solved so easily. 

So he takes a step back. Reviews all his information.

And that night, as Jim lies awake, Bones perfectly still next to him, he thinks, _it’s too quiet_.

Bones snuffles into his pillow as he dozes, restless, Jim reaching out blindly to rub his back, and there’s no sound, nothing; the noise from the street and the traffic doesn’t reach their floor, and even if it did, their walls and windows are sound-proofed.

_It’s too damn quiet_.

What had Uhura said, that day? _Maybe he’s having trouble adjusting to natural light after five years sleeping in an artificial environment?_

__It wasn’t the lights; they’d already tried that. But what did an artificial environment have that their apartment didn’t? The air filtration system had been utterly silent on the enterprise, and even then, they had equally-silent, almost indistinguishable central air in the apartment.

Jim rubs a hand over his eyes and then closes them, listening.

For a moment, he just drifts, cataloguing, comparing.

Then he sits up, stunned.

He’s such a _fucking idiot_.

Of _course_.

oOo

Jim tries to do it himself before contacting Scotty, because it’s still his fucking ship and he should be authorized to access whatever he wants, but the third time he’s denied access he leans back from his terminal and sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Computer, try authorization code Kirk Alpha-9075.”

“ _Denied. Access not available via subspace transmission_.”

“Oh my god,” groans Jim. “I could hack you, you know. But I won’t, because I’m a good captain that follows the rules and doesn’t get court-martialed for hacking data files on his own goddamn vessel.”

“ _Please repeat your query_.”

“Jump off a bridge,” snaps Jim.  
 _  
“Unable to comply_.”

So he gives in and comms Scotty, who is part of the engineering team still stationed on the Enterprise, responsible for the refit and repairs necessary after such a long-haul mission.

“You want...what?” asks Scotty, leaning back and scratching at the top of his head. “I’m sure a recording exists, but why?”

“You know how sometimes people listen to ambient sound to help them relax, or fall asleep?” asks Jim. “Like, rainstorms, or wind, or—or hell, I don’t know. Babbling brooks.”

Scotty stares at him. “So you want that, but of the Enterprise’s engines.”

“Yes,” says Jim. “But it’s not for me.”

“I’m not judging you, lad,” says Scotty, putting his palms up, placating. “I find it soothing myself.”

“Not, like, warp core hum, when you’re standing in engineering,” says Jim, musing.

“I imagine, if it’s to help someone sleep, you’d want it muffled, like it is in crew quarters,” says Scotty dryly.

“Right,” says Jim. “That.”

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up from security recordings,” says Scotty. “But you’ll owe me a drink. I’m logging it. Don’t forget.”

oOo

Scotty comes through, though. Of course he does.

When Jim logs into his PADD the next day, the file is waiting for him. He grins and sends Scotty a note back, before he goes into the bathroom, sits down on the closed lid of the toilet, and listens to it.

The warm hum of the Enterprise envelops him immediately and it’s not until it’s surrounding him that he realises how much he’s missed the grounding embrace of her engines. He closes his eyes and lets it wash over him, wholly comforted.

Bones’s voice and a loud knock on the door startles him back to the present. “Are you going to be in there for the rest of the morning? I’ve got to take a piss!”

“Charming,” mutters Jim, getting up and powering down his PADD before he runs the sink for a minute and then opens the door, immediately confronted by Bones in just his boxers, wearing a glare, his mouth pinched. “I love this intimate domestic bliss thing we’ve got going on.”

“I was beginning to think you’d fallen in,” Bones says, brushing past Jim to get to the toilet, where he pulls out his dick without even closing the door behind him.

Jim shamelessly lets his gaze rove over Bones’s bare back and the dimples above his ass. “Because that’s a thing that can happen to fully grown adult humans,” he comments. “Can you get the coffee going?”

Bones grunts in reply and Jim heads into the bedroom to get changed. He’s pulling a sweatshirt over his head when he hears the toilet flush, so he takes a moment to gather up all the clothes off their floor and sort them into the laundry hamper.

He’s curiously sniffing a t-shirt when he hears the sound of glass breaking in the kitchen.

“Bones?” he calls, dropping everything to run down the hall. He stops short in the doorway, aware that he’s barefoot.

Bones is standing there staring at the floor, equally barefoot. There’s a harassed air about him, evident in the wild green of his eyes and the upward arch of his eyebrow. Spread around him on the floor like the spiral arms of a galaxy is the shattered remains of their coffee carafe. The plastic handle rests on the floor next to the arch of Bones’s foot.

“Don’t move,” cautions Jim.

“Yeah, thanks,” says Bones dryly. “I would have blindly walked across the glass-strewn kitchen floor if you hadn’t warned me.”

“I’ll get the vacuum,” says Jim.

Bones stays obediently still in the middle of the room, wilting with each loud clatter of glass ricocheting down the neck of the vacuum cleaner, energy sapped from him like he’s a dying tree. After the glass is gone, Bones remains, head bowed, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey,” says Jim gently. “It’s okay. We’ll get another one. It’s just a coffee pot.”

“I’m so fucking tired, Jim,” admits Bones, voice wavering like it’s about to break. He holds up a trembling hand, and for a moment they both watch the fine tremors of his muscles. “I’m tapped out.”

“Whoa, hey,” says Jim. He takes him by the wrist and folds their fingers together, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve got an idea. Come on.”

Bones lets Jim pull him by the hand back to the bedroom, waits patiently as Jim closes their door and pulls the black-out curtains shut. He lets Jim herd him onto the bed like he’s a skittish animal, allowing Jim to matter-of-factly tuck him in. When Bones is settled, too exhausted to argue or demand an explanation, Jim crawls in next to him and says, “Computer, load audio file “enterprise63”. Loop track.”

The computer beeps a confirmation and then they’re swathed in the white noise hum of the Enterprise.

Bones shifts restlessly. “What’s that?” he slurs.

“Shh,” says Jim, running his fingers through Bones’s hair. “It’ll help. Trust me.”

Bones snorts, his eyes closed. “Has that ever even been a question?”

Jim blinks. “...What?”

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” mutters Bones. “I do, though. God help me, I do.”

“I know,” murmurs Jim, kissing Bones’s bare shoulder. “But I went to great lengths to get this recording for you. The least you could do is actually _listen_ to it.” But even as he’s speaking the words, the tension is draining slowly out of the hard curve of Bones’s back. Jim just listens to him breathe; wraps himself in the soft cloak of his exhalations.

“I’m listening,” sighs Bones, his relief palpable. “It’s your ship. You got a recording of the Enterprise. S’like a heartbeat.”

“I didn’t think you’d miss it,” Jim says. “To be honest, I thought it would be me that couldn’t sleep, that couldn’t stand the silence. But you miss it, too.”

Bones is drifting, now, on the precipice between sleep and wakefulness, his breathing evening out with each slow breath. “I miss it,” he says after a moment, in a voice thick with fatigue. “And I’d go again, Jim. I would. If you asked.”

Jim’s breathing stutters. When he closes his eyes, he’s back on board his ship, her heartbeat beating in time with his own. Next to him, Bones settles into deep sleep by degrees, body loose and warm in Jim’s arms.

He sleeps for twelve solid hours.

oOo

Jim doesn’t ask. Not right away.

But when he does, Bones says yes.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Purpose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108688) by [nextraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextraordinaire/pseuds/nextraordinaire)




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